


The Revelations of Horst Cabal

by neveralarch



Category: Johannes Cabal - Jonathan L. Howard
Genre: Gen, post-The Fall of the House of Cabal
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-25
Updated: 2017-12-25
Packaged: 2019-02-20 00:39:42
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,297
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13135521
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/neveralarch/pseuds/neveralarch
Summary: Now that he's properly alive again, Horst has his priorities in order.





	The Revelations of Horst Cabal

**Author's Note:**

  * For [janie_tangerine](https://archiveofourown.org/users/janie_tangerine/gifts).



> Happy yuletide janie_tangerine! This is a treat that got a little out of hand :)
> 
> To be perfectly honest, I don't have a copy of TFoTHoC by me and I don't 100% recall the ending. If this doesn't fit perfectly, please do me a favor and handwave it. The magic of last-minute yuletide fics!
> 
> This fic contains quite a bit of alcohol - please let me know if you need details.

Horst had a revelation as they watched the sun set.

"Johannes," he said.

"Quiet, I'm thinking," said Johannes, which had been his almost invariable response to Horst’s revelations since Johannes was five years old.

"Johannes," insisted Horst, "I've had a revelation."

"Oh, good," muttered Johannes.

"I'm alive again," said Horst. "Properly alive. Do you understand what that means?"

Johannes raised his eyebrows. "There's several implications. I can't just guess which you've deemed most important."

"I can go to a _pub_ ," said Horst.

Johannes rolled his eyes. "I suppose I should have guessed that. Do you want to wake Fräulein Bartos, or shall I?"

Horst gave the tent a considering look. “No, let Alisha sleep. She’ll probably strangle anyone that tries to wake her up.”

\---

The nearest pub was not a particularly nice one. It wasn't quite in town; its nearest neighbors were more likely to be sheep than humans. Its main virtue was being the nearest pub for some three hundred country people, and thus it always had business.

Johannes sat on a stool, his back ramrod straight, and stared at a mug of ale.

"You're supposed to drink it," said Horst, demonstrating.

"I don't like English beer," said Johannes.

Horst waved his empty mug at the barkeep. "You can't play the cool foreigner with me, Johannes. I know you don't like the German stuff either. Here, I'll take yours."

"Same again?" asked the barkeep. He smiled at Horst; his eyes kept sliding oddly around Johannes.

"Another ale for me, and for my brother—do you have madeira? Port? Something awful and syrupy sweet, that's what he wants."

"No it isn't," said Johannes, but he waited until the barkeep was out of earshot. And he said it very quietly.

"I missed this." Horst looked around with misty eyes. More unfocused than misty, actually. He’d just drained Johannes’ ale.

"You could still go to pubs when you were a vampire," said Johannes. "You could even drink beer, if you liked."

"It wasn't the same." Horst held out both hands for the next mug of ale and breathed in the fumes, smiling helplessly. "You don't understand. I could drink beer, but it didn't taste the same and I kept wishing it were blood. I couldn't get drunk. I wasn't interested in picking up women, except sometimes literally in order to get a better angle on their neck. I could get in a fight, but I'd spend half the time trying not to pull anyone's head off and the other half throwing people through walls. It wasn't any _fun_."

Johannes looked disgusted. It might have been because of Horst, but it might have been because Johannes had thoughtlessly rested his elbows on the sticky countertop.

"Hello, hello," said a man. "What's all this?"

"Hello Sergeant Parkin," said Johannes, with a frown.

"Hello," said Horst, with a smile.

Sergeant Parkin didn't look happy with either of them. "Mr Cabal," he said loudly, "I hope I don't find you disturbing the peace!" Then he added, more quietly, "what the hell do you think you're doing?"

"Having a drink." Johannes sipped his wine. "At my brother's insistence."

Horst waved. "I wasn't aware it was a crime, officer."

Sergeant Parkin pointed at Johannes. "You make people nervous." He pointed at Horst. "You make _me_ nervous. I know your type."

"Do you?" asked Horst with interest.

"You're here to get drunk, hit on someone's lady-friend, and punch someone else in the jaw," said Sergeant Parkin. "And then I'll be asked to take you into custody, and then our friend here will set a curse on me and have my entrails eaten by demons, I expect."

They looked at Johannes, who shrugged. "I don't know. If Horst is in a cell, I don't have to be _here_ , do I?"

"I thought so." Horst sighed. "Johannes is happy to leave me rotting in the local jail, officer. Or crypt, or what have you."

"That was only once," said Johannes.

"For _eight years_ ," said Horst.

"I apologized," said Johannes.

"No you didn't," said Horst.

"I said I was sorry," said Johannes. "I distinctly remember saying sorry."

"It wasn't a proper apology."

"Gentlemen!" said Sergeant Parkin. "Gentlemen. Let's make a deal, all right? I'll buy you a round. I'll go sit in that corner, right there. You'll have a drink and leave without causing any damage to persons and property, including me, and the townsfolk will breathe a sigh of relief. All right?"

The Cabal brothers nodded.

"This is much better than I've ever been treated by the police," said Horst, as Sergeant Parkin left for his corner.

"Maybe you should commit more murders," said Johannes, which is precisely the opposite lesson than what the police would hope you’d learn.

In any event, Sergeant Parkin's respectful attitude was not rewarded. After three more rounds, Horst was hopelessly drunk. He did flirt with someone's lady friend; she was flattered and amenable, but alas her someone was not. Horst did punch him in the jaw. Because Horst still had some of his vampiric attributes, and because the pub was very poorly built, the punch sent the lady's friend through the east wall.

A few of the patrons were discouraged by this display. A redoubtable few took it as a challenge.

"Oh, Christ," said Parkin, and hid under a table.

Johannes had drunk three glasses of madeira and was utterly useless. Inspired by Parkin, he did try to summon a devil to gnaw on their assailants' entrails. He garbled the incantation so badly that the devil Zarenyia, several thousand miles away, merely felt a slight craving for tripe.

Horst was not so impaired. He was seeing double, but he dealt with this by swinging wide and catching his man at least on the backswing. When his eight (four? sixteen?) opponents seemed like they might gain the upper hand, Horst simply picked his brother up, swung him over his shoulder, and left, fast enough that the Cabals left a small cloud of dust and straw in their wake.

"Here," said the barkeep in dismay. "Who's paying for their drinks?"

This was a particularly inopportune time for Parkin to knock over his table.

\---

Horst had another revelation as they watched the sun rise.

"Johannes."

"Shut _up_."

"Johannes, I've had a revelation."

"I don't care."

"I can get hangovers again." Horst sighed. "I didn't miss these at all."

"I think I'm dying," said Johannes, and was sick.

Horst looked out at the world; the sun-drenched fields, the lowing cattle, and the search party armed with pitchforks which Horst hoped was not coming this way. He didn't particularly want to move, now or ever again.

"I love being alive," he said.

"I hate you," said Johannes, for approximately the five thousand, seven hundred and twenty-third time since he'd been born.

“You too,” said Horst, beaming with joy and good will towards his fellow man, and with a pounding headache attempting to crack open his skull. “You too, Johannes.”

They each thought their own thoughts for a while, watching the progress of the search party/mob. After a moment, something occurred to Horst.

“This isn’t the same hillside we came from.”

“Excellently deduced,” mumbled Johannes.

“No, this is important,” said Horst. “Where did we leave Alisha?”

Fortunately, the search party was able to answer that question. Their discovery of Miss Bartos’ tent resulted in a lot of screaming on the part of the villagers and stabbing on the part of Miss Bartos. 

“I suppose you want to go help,” said Johannes.

“I believe in her strength, independence, and ability to resolve this situation without me blundering in,” said Horst. “Also, I don’t think my legs work.”

Johannes grunted, and Horst closed his eyes. If you didn’t listen to the words, the screams were actually sort of relaxing.


End file.
